


Same Song, Second Verse

by Riley_writes



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Probably will mention almost everyone at some point, eventual mchanzo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-02 04:25:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8651128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riley_writes/pseuds/Riley_writes
Summary: The Recall goes out. Not everyone is happy about it, and returning to find the old team much changed doesn't make things easier. As long as no one looks past the smiles, they'll never have to know...(Tags will be updated as more chapters are written and added. I'll try to mark everyone who makes an appearance.)





	1. Same Old Song

It all started with a soft beeping.

 

The beeping continued for several minutes, drowned out by muffled curses that immediately preceded a short bout of gunfire. A few bodies hit the floor and the quiet cursing resumed, louder now that it was no longer in danger of bringing unwanted attention around. Dark eyes narrowed in irritation as Jesse McCree practically upended his bag to find the source of the noise and silence it. He _had_ been hiding, hunkered down somewhere that the men chasing him probably wouldn't look, only to have his position betrayed by this infernal _noise_.

After a brief search through his bag, he found the small communicator -worn and battered and somehow still functional- caught on something inside the bag that had kept him from simply throwing it away. With a frustrated growl, he hunkered down on the floor and flipped it on, resigned to listening to the message to get the sound to stop.

The message nearly had him chucking the device against a wall or shooting it so he would be left alone.

 

Instead of giving in to anger and frustration, he slid down a wall to sit on the floor, digging out a cigarillo and lighting up, letting the familiar motions bring him a sense of calm. Then he watched the message again, trying to keep his emotions in check.

It helped that Winston was the one calling. Had it been any of the others, he might have given in to temptation and destroyed the communicator he'd forgotten he still had and worked harder to go underground. Bad enough he had a bounty on his head to deal with, but now the remnants of Overwatch were calling and looking for him to join them and help? _Ridiculous._

There’s a familiar taste of bile in his throat as he allows himself a moment to think on it, knowing what his reactions would be to different old teammates. Reyes -his chest tightens for a moment as he remembers his old boss- he would answer for, if only to personally shake the man and lecture him. It would mean he was _alive_ , after all. Morrison: he probably would have chucked the communicator in the air and filled it full of holes just to be sure the old bastard couldn’t ever find him. Then again, he was dead _too_...

He stuffed the communicator away and moved out of his hiding place after quickly repacking his bag, moving on and heading for safety. _Deal with one problem at a time, Jesse. You're no use to anyone getting killed while sitting around on your ass._

* * *

 

Later that evening, he found solitude in the desert. There's something to be said for the chill in the air that contrasted so sharply with the sweltering heat during the day and the way it makes the simple comfort of a small campfire that much more attractive. Safely away from men that were only interested in putting him in cuffs or putting bullets to him to collect the bounty, McCree allowed himself to light up again. The smoke comforts him as much as the silence and solitude, and he pulls up Winston’s message one more time. The anger is still there, but he can push it to the back of his mind and focus on the gorilla’s words.

He wants to scoff: the world has made it clear they don't want heroes around anymore, that the old heroes of Overwatch were little better than the villains they fought in the name of keeping the world safe. McCree had come to terms with that a long time ago, less bothered by those sentiments than the others would have been. He'd never considered himself much of a hero anyways. Easier to just be the villain and go his own way than try to change the minds of people around him when he didn't feel like a hero.

But Winston is right, a little part of him acknowledges. Things are bad and getting worse. Someone had to do something. McCree sighs heavily and turns the communicator off completely -he's had enough time with his prosthetic arm to learn a thing or two about electronics and how to fiddle with them without breaking them beyond repair. Now it wouldn't be giving his position away, at least.

* * *

 

It takes another week of arguing with himself to decide to go back, reasoning that he can always leave again if things go badly. He knows how to survive on his own. After all, it wasn’t like any of his former ‘teammates’ ever were interested in coming to help him and join him in doing what was right without the bureaucracy and corruption the organization had devolved into. Too many stuck around and tried to fix things, not realizing they were moving hay around in a barn after the horses had already gone. Too many of those that had remained had gone down in flames. McCree was fairly certain he was the only member of Blackwatch still left alive.

Another month of time went down the drain as he hitchhiked and walked his way to a more densely populated area. There were a few train rides, a few times he was recognized and had to bail, and he finally settled in a disguise of sorts to go with an alias that he used to get out of the country.

 

By the time he reached the Gibraltar base, he couldn't be more glad to see solid land again. It had been fortunate, incidentally, that he hadn't packed much food for the trip. Being stowed away in the cargo hold of a ship hasn't left him much space to smoke, but the worst came when the ship had moved through a storm that had been rough enough for him to feel the rocking of the ship, reminding him of his aversion to boats in the form of seasickness. Several times he nearly got caught by a wandering ship-worker, several times he considered turning himself in just to get some help with the misery.

Then the storm passed and he spent a few days recovering until the ship finally docked. Once he'd staggered off the ship, trying to blend in with the crowds of people, it took most of his self-control to not throw himself on the ground and kiss it. It was a blessing for the earth to not be moving under his feet and out of his control. He finds some solitude again on the edge of a beach and sits in the shade, pulling out a fresh cigarillo and lighting up, scowling faintly at the shaking of his flesh hand.

Withdrawal was an awful thing.


	2. Little Bit Louder

Several cigarillos and a few solitary hours later, the shakes had calmed and McCree got to his feet and took the time to change into the clothes the others who remembered him would be expecting from him (had they known he was coming, anyways). He was careful as he approached the base, experienced eyes seeking out the place’s defenses and weaknesses even as he forced himself to straighten his shoulders and adjust his pace, intentionally jangling his spurs and becoming the cowboy the world expected to see.

The base is quiet. He's sure his arrival has not gone unnoticed, given the number of cameras he'd made mental note of, but no one is hurrying out to confront or greet him. The quiet is simultaneously comforting -as he's not entirely ready to socialize heavily- and nerve-wracking. It's difficult to keep his doubts from overwhelming him and making him turn back and find some way back to the desert he called home. His hand brushes over Peacekeeper several times as he walks, the hefty weight of the pistol at his side the only comfort he needs to walk head-on into the unknown.

Soon enough he rounds a corner, finally catching sight of someone to suggest there's any life at all in this base. He comes to a full stop for a long moment, letting out an exaggerated movement with his cigarillo and brushing off some of the ash collected on the end, before continuing to move forward, this time intending to stop a few paces shy of the other individual.

  
McCree’s presence had _not_ gone unnoticed. The jangling of his spurs had echoed against the walls and cliffs that made up the complex, announcing his approach long before he would come around a corner and into sight. Genji had been outside, meditating on a rock some distance from the main entrance and the others that had gathered, seeking quiet as he searched for inner peace. The sound is vaguely familiar, though it takes him time to place it, and his eyes are open behind his visor as he waits, not sure what to expect. It certainly _looks_ like McCree. An older, tireder, scruffier McCree.

The two are silent for a full minute, the cowboy hesitant to interrupt the other’s meditation and at a loss for words anyways, the ninja tense and unmoving save for the eyes that were observing and analyzing every bit of the man that had intruded on his space. The years had clearly taken their toll on McCree, as they had on so many others. Who was to say if their relationship would start where it left off or not?

Prosthetic fingers moved to grip the cigarillo hanging half-forgotten between the cowboy’s lips, pulling it away after a long drag to make space for a deliberate exhale of smoke directed upwards. “....you still in the same old tin can there, Genji?” Predictably, McCree had been the one to break the silence, his voice a little rougher than Genji remembered, a little tense with his own nervousness towards this reunion.

Genji isn't still after that. He brings his hands down slowly, letting out a bit of an exaggerated sigh, then is on his feet in a flash, covering the ground between them and putting his arms around McCree. The American could swear he heard Genji _giggle_ at his startled exclamation. “Of course it's me,” he replies as he pulls away, allowing them both to regain their composure. “Though this ‘tin can’ has been much improved over the years.” The smile on Jesse’s face is more relaxed and genuine now, but it fades slightly at Genji’s next words. “No one told me you were coming back.”

“Wasn't sure I wanted to.” McCree sighed heavily and brought his cigarillo back to his lips, breaking what he figured was eye contact with Genji as he did so. The ninja always saw too much. “I didn't tell anyone in case something made me change my mind.”

 

A slightly uncomfortable silence passed between them at those words, more for everything Jesse doesn't say because he doesn't _have to_. They both were there, both knew how things had ended. Logically, Genji couldn't blame him for not being eager to return, but he's glad to see him all the same. It gives him hope that perhaps, with time, his brother might also get past his stubborn pride and put in an appearance.

It is Genji’s turn to break the silence now, turning away and heading backwards towards the living quarters of the base. “Come. There are others who will be glad to see you.” He relaxes a bit himself as he hears the spurs -less loud, now that McCree isn't wordlessly announcing his presence- begin their jingling again, following half a pace behind him.

* * *

Genji takes him through the hallways on a route that feels entirely too long, as if they are avoiding something ( _or someone_ , Jesse’s mind adds). It's mostly quiet this way, however, giving McCree time to consider his next opening words. He'd taken a moment to stub out the tiny bit of his smoke that had remained before they entered the base, as people probably wouldn't take too kindly to him trailing smoke and ash everywhere. (He barely noticed it anymore, but some people were finicky like that. Offend them later when it's intentional, rather than immediately if it's unwarranted.)

Eventually they stop before a door, and Genji gives him a look before knocking and heading inside at the muffled ‘come in’ that responds. Inside the room is….well, it's a mess. Winston is inside, sitting on the floor and messing with some kind of device, tools and spare parts and even an empty peanut butter jar scattered on the floor around him as he works, grumbling a little to himself.

He looks up a few moments later, giving Genji a look as he brings himself back from his thoughts and to the present. “Yes, what is it?”

“Someone else has returned,” Genji said simply, shifting aside so McCree can be seen more easily.

“Well I hadn't heard anyone was coming….today…..” Winston trailed off as he recognized the other figure. He set down the tools in his hand and got to his feet, picking his way out of the mess carefully and moving closer to be polite. “Ah, hello. I wasn't sure you got the call.”

“I did.” McCree wasn't sure how to feel, so he kept up the small but easy-going smile. “I wasn't sure I wanted to come back.”

“You're here now.” Winston relaxed and took a seat, waving a hand to nearby chairs. The others don't move, and he shrugs, leaving the offer open if they change their minds. “We could use your help.”

They talk for a bit, Genji watching McCree’s body language and minute expression changes as he tries for himself to decipher what the man is really thinking, what it is it that he isn't saying. Even having known the man years ago, he finds it’s difficult to get a good read on the man, outside of general tiredness and nerves. _He has a much better poker face now._

Winston explains how people are still trickling in, some having harder times getting away from their new lives than others. There have been new recruits as well, some who were too young to have been a part of the organization before, some that had simply stayed out of things and gone unnoticed. As he is in the middle of explaining how he hopes McCree can help -leading small teams, helping to train new recruits, bringing his experiences with him and adding that to the mix to help this still-technically-illegal group function and survive- loud voices shouting in a few different languages cut in, even through the walls and the closed door. The gorilla sighs heavily and shifts his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose, a decidedly human gesture that leaves McCree fighting with the urge to laugh. “...the newbies that I mentioned…” he grumbled as if by way of explanation.

“Reckon I’ll have to meet them at some point.” Jesse sighed, letting his tiredness show for a moment. “We can talk more later, when it’s quieter.”

“Sure.” Winston smile briefly, then set about giving him things he would need for his stay: namely a map of the base and keys to his room. As the cowboy left, Genji right behind him, the scientist could only sigh in relief before returning to his work. Things just never got any easier.

* * *

Somehow he made it to his room, taking the time to put his things down and clean up a bit, memorizing the map he’d been given before exiting the room to wander the base a bit. Lines on paper were all well and good, but a man needed to know his space if he was expecting to stay there long. His wanderings took him past the kitchen and dining area, somehow empty this time of day, through many halls and past many unlabeled doors that he chose not to open. There would be time for a more thorough investigation later, when he wasn’t so bone tired.

One of those doors burst open suddenly as he passed, and someone came barreling out of the room, colliding with him before either of them could avoid it. “Woah there,” McCree grabbed at the person who’d run into him, trying to steady them both. Dimly he was glad that his first instinct hadn’t been to go for his weapon. After a moment, he got his feet back under himself and pulled away to see this….girl….closely. A small frown formed as he considered asking her who her parents were and why they weren’t paying attention to her on this base, but he was cut off by a little girlish shriek.

“A real cowboy!”

  
That was how he met Hana. She dragged him back into the room she’d just vacated, insisting on putting his gaming skills to the test and refusing to take no for an answer. Utterly befuddled, he’d gone along with it, not knowing how this would affect his decision to stay.


	3. Little Bit Worse

It didn’t take the girl long to figure out where he excelled. No one had warned him that she would go searching for someone to play games with her at seemingly random times during the day, nor had he been told how to fend her off politely, so she had many chances over the next few weeks to corner him and push a controller into his hand. Once he learned the controls, he could hold his own against her (or as her teammate) in shooting games, while puzzle games and rpgs bored him silly. After the third time he’d gone to sleep, controller slipping out of his fingers, she gave up trying to broaden his horizons further, figuring getting him to sit with her for a while at all was better than nothing.

He learned a lot about her, easily able to listen to her idle chatter as they played, or as she played and he sat nearby. She seemed happy to talk about anything and everything, from games, to her home country, to the other members of the team. It was through this that he learned more personal information about the other ‘heroes of Overwatch’ than had been in their personnel files. Of course, he’d found and read all of those already.

No file would tell him about Winston’s addiction to peanut butter -though he knew that fact already. Personnel files wouldn’t tell him that it wasn’t safe to eat Satya’s cooking without an iron stomach or a death wish, as she added enough spice to choke a horse, or that Mei-Ling would usually make herself -and anyone who was in the room at the same time, willing to linger and chat- a big ice cream sundae around midnight. Without spending lots of time socializing with the others, he wouldn’t know that Angela would make healthy snacks for Hana and that the Swiss woman had been talked into cutting the apples into slices with ears to resemble bunnies. (The more he got to know Hana, the more he suspected that this was the only way to get her to eat the healthy snacks. Kids these days…)

At the end of the few weeks, Jesse couldn’t even pretend to himself that, on some level, he didn’t enjoy her company. As much as the idle chatter would typically annoy him, the fact that she had no qualm telling him things and answering his rare questions without really expecting anything more than his presence in return made her an almost ideal companion for someone who didn’t really want to be around others at all.

 

His remaining time whiled away walking around the base, re-learning the ins and outs of every corridor, every open space. He rediscovered places where he used to go out to smoke, places he could be alone that weren’t just his room. So much had changed, but not enough for the place to not still feel comfortably familiar. After a few days, he started joining the others for meals instead of waiting until the kitchen was deserted to get something for himself: mostly he'd join near the end so as to avoid the rush of people, but he gradually worked his way up to socializing with everyone.

He met Angela -again- who insisted on dragging him to the little mini-hospital she'd insisted setting up to be prepared: anything from training accidents to piecing people together after the missions that were still to come. She got on his case about his smoking -again- with a lecture during the ‘mandatory’ checkup (he figured she was making the ‘mandatory’ part up and using it as an excuse to annoy him) and many disapproving looks. In spite of his obvious attempts to ignore her and brush off the lecture, she somehow managed to press a box of nicotine patches on him as he tried to leave, informing him that they'd help him quit when he ‘quit being a stubborn fool and decided to take better care of himself’. It had taken a colossal effort to fight down the childish urge to pull out one of his cigarillos and light up in front of her, leaving him standing in place and staring at the box she'd pressed on him in utter disgust for several long moments. Eventually he tucked the box in a pocket with a heavy sigh before turning on his heel and walking out.

The box went to rest on the top of the dresser on his room, otherwise untouched. He had no intention of actually using them, after all.

 

A few days after his enforced trip to the medical area, Jesse discovered that Hana had heard about Angela’s efforts to get him to quit smoking. She wrinkled her nose and made a face at him as he wandered in to join her for the afternoon chatter-fest and bits of gaming, the evidence of his latest smoke break following him in and announcing his continued vice to her nose. “You're still smoking.”

McCree stopped in his tracks, letting out an exasperated groan. “...not you too…”

Hana sighed and smacked ‘his’ spot on the couch, wordlessly telling him not to just leave her. “I'm not gonna lecture you,” she promised vaguely.

He sat down slowly, letting his eyes focus on the screen. The room was silent, save for the sounds her game made, for almost half an hour. Just as the silence started to make him uncomfortable, she reached the end of the level and turned the game off. She then jumped to her feet and waved a stern finger at him. “Stay. I'll be right back.”

His amusement at her imperious attitude and concern for her well-being -he'd only ever heard her that quiet while sleeping- kept him on the couch for the full minute it took her to run off to her room and return. She dropped back into her spot on the couch, tossing a bag of lollipops into his lap as she did so.

“...that's mighty sweet of you, but I ain't got this much of a sweet tooth.”

She shot him a scathing look before chucking a controller at his head. He grinned and caught it, fumbling a bit to get his fingers around it without breaking anything as she grumbled under her breath in her native tongue. Her eyes went back to the game and the screen as she refused to elaborate, and his smile faded.

Finally he figured he couldn’t just wait her out. “....Hana…?”

“Maybe you don’t want to quit _now_ ,” she said finally. “But if you ever think about trying, or whatever, those might help. I did my research.” Her eyes met his for a moment and she scowled. “I might be young, but I’m not _stupid_.”

“...I never said you were.” Jesse adjusted the expression on his face, deciding shock wasn’t a good look for him. The way she’d phrased that told him that she wanted him to quit too, but she wasn’t about to ram it down his throat the way Angela had.

She _cared_.

Rather than start blubbering or make an ass of himself saying things before he’d thought them through, he turned his attention to the screen as well, getting ready for her to soundly crush him in her game of choice. After a minute, he pulled a lollipop out of the bag in his lap and offered it to her wordlessly. Her smile returned full-force, and he let out a little relieved breath. _Apology accepted. Thank you, friend._

 

The bag would return with him to his room when he tired of her crushing him repeatedly, to be set on the dresser next to the box of nicotine patches. He still had no intention of quitting, of using either method, but the silent reminder that there were people who cared about him helped.

* * *

One morning, he got a rather rude awakening. He'd had a bit to drink before turning in the night before, leaving him decidedly grouchy and a little hungover as he answered the door, still in his clothes from yesterday. There was barely time for Hana’s bright and cheery smile to register before she shoved a large mug of coffee on his face. She was far too chipper given the early hour -relatively speaking, as she regularly stayed up until an ungodly hour in the morning and then didn't come back out of her room until shortly after lunch- and he figured she must have had an energy drink already.

He forgave her for waking him up as his mechanical hand closed around the mug, and he let her in so she could sit as he dragged himself to the bathroom to change into clean clothes.

 

Once he was suitably cleaned up, she grabbed his arm and dragged him through the halls, chattering the whole way and moving at a quick pace that still let him drink some of his coffee. Somehow he gathered that Lena was returning with an airship and an assortment of new recruits and heroes that had answered the Recall but needed to be picked up. Jesse frowned, a little hurt that such a big deal was being made for these others when none had been made for him. Then he reminded himself that he had told no one he was coming, or he might have earned a bit of a welcome party too.

McCree continued to sip at his coffee as the few heroes on base gathered, watching the airship come in and land. There was some chatter and speculation as to who would be on the airship, theories flying back and forth and growing steadily more ridiculous. Jesse rolled his eyes when Hana suggested a vampire or a zombie, resisting the urge to add ‘werewolf’ for good measure. She wouldn't take his comment in the sarcastic tone he’d deliver it in, after all.

The first to disembark were Winston and Lena, of course, chatting animatedly to each other as they lead the way down the ramp. The gathered heroes quieted at the sight of them, but the speculation continued in quiet murmurs. A few people exited the airship slowly, carrying their bags and weapons as they looked around, eyeing their new home base. The first was a short-ish dark-skinned man, and Jesse had to admit to himself that he was impressed with how well the kid moved on those skates that were on his feet.

The second was a taller man, dark hair that would probably be fairly long if it weren’t tied back. The casual clothes didn’t tell McCree much about the man, but the sharp gasp and slight stiffening from the ninja on his left told him this likely was Genji’s brother. They’d had a chance to talk a bit, here and there, and Genji had told him that he’d asked his brother to come without really expecting him to. A pleasant surprise then.

McCree’s brown eyes returned to study the man, noting his stiff posture and the scowl that seemed likely firmly and forever affixed to his expression. He wasn’t _bad_ -looking, per se, but Jesse got the feeling that he’d be prickly and hard to approach. Sort of like a feral wounded animal. With a little mental note to tread lightly around the man until he’d gotten a better feel for him, Jesse let his eyes travel over the others that were exiting the plane.

It took him a full minute to realize Hana had grabbed his arm and was tugging on it to get his attention. He forced his eyes away from the man he’d been staring at to look at her worried expression instead. Not a single word she said made sense. After a moment, he shook his head and pasted a neutral expression on his face as he resumed staring.

The hair was greyer. The face was mostly hidden by a mask and visor. But there was no mistaking that posture, the way the man held his bags and the weapon at his side.

 _He’s alive. The bastard_ **_survived_ ** _._

_Why him? Why not…_

 

With a tiny choking noise, McCree turned on his heel, abruptly yanking his arm out of Hana’s grip to leave him free to storm off. He needed space, time to process the information and work through his shock and anger.

He needed a smoke. Probably a drink, too.


	4. Time Heals All Wounds

It took the Soldier nearly a week to finally corner him alone.

 

McCree had gone into self-enforced seclusion, of a sort. He stopped taking meals with the others and was scarcely to be seen anywhere indoors during the day. Any attempt to visit him in his room was met with silence, as if he wasn’t inside even if people knew he was there. Not even Hana could get him to come out and speak to her, leaving her endlessly frustrated.

Still, she left him little gifts outside his door each time she tried: a plate of apple slices with peanut butter, a little bag of M&M’s, even a box of bubble gum cigars that had been her last-ditch effort to get to him. He got the little gifts later, appreciating them immensely but unwilling to subject her to his mood. Just because ghosts from his past returned from the dead to haunt him didn’t mean she deserved to suffer his anger.

So he kept himself away, hitting his smokes and drinks harder than he had in a long time, finding solitude when and wherever he could. During the sober hours, he went to the training range, telling Athena to lock the doors and not let anyone in until he was leaving. More hours were spent there in silence, staring vaguely in the direction of the bots and targets set up around the area than actually taking shots, and each shot that missed lead him to increased anger and depression, leading to missing more shots, and eventually leading to him retreating to a quiet place with a handful of cigarillos and a full bottle of something with high-alcohol content.

 

The Soldier found him there one afternoon. Someone had already booked the training area, so Jesse retreated to an open-air balcony to smoke and wait it out, too restless to hole up in his room and not caring enough to see who had taken over the space during  _ his _ practice time. By the stubs on the ground next to him, he’d been there for some time by the time the Soldier showed up. He’d been so surprised at actually  _ finding _ him that he was at a loss for words for a minute.

McCree wasn’t. “....Jack.”

The word was so full of aching bitterness and misery that the Soldier flinched. His name turned into something vile, nearly a curse, as it was spat from the cowboy’s lips. Morrison remembered the fairly cheerful teen that had been conscripted into Blackwatch all those years ago, the cocky smile that had lingered on his face all the time, even when he or Reyes had given the kid a hard time about something. The man had  _ changed _ . “....” After a moment, he cleared his throat and found his voice again. “It’s Soldier 76, son.”

“I heard ya.” McCree’s eyes flicked over to the man intruding on his space for a moment as he exhaled a long stream of smoke. “ _ Jack. _ ” His eyes returned to the ocean, utterly dismissing the Soldier.

Clearly McCree wasn’t going to let him off so easily. He  _ knew _ , and he wanted it clear that he knew. The fact that he hadn’t gone around telling everyone else was a small comfort, given how tense and uncomfortable this conversation was. “....McCree….” He sighed heavily and leaned against the wall, noting how the cowboy stiffened at his single step closer. “.... _ Jesse _ , I-”

“You  _ died _ .” Jesse spat the words. “Only somehow you  _ didn’t _ .”

“Look-”

“You.” A snarl escaped as McCree ground the stub of his cigarillo into the ground beside him furiously, his other hand already reaching into his pocket for another. “You were in that explosion. I  _ know _ you were. I saw all the news reports… You and Gabe-” His voice choked off with a little strangled noise, hints of misery showing through the cracks in his anger, fingers fumbling with the lighter too much to actually light up. “Only you weren’t actually  _ dead _ , and you never called-”

“McCree….” It hurt, seeing the young man he remembered so old and bitter, so much more like himself. “I couldn’t. Look….” He trailed off and sighed, sliding down the wall to sit down before fumbling for the clasps on his mask and visor. “....look at me.”

He had to squint to see McCree slowly turn his face to look at him. Didn’t require good sight to hear the startled gasp, though. “Yeah, I lived.  _ Barely _ . It took me a long time to heal.” He sighed and closed his eyes, letting the silence settle between them for a full minute before pulling his visor back on. “I still can barely see without this thing.”

“.....Jack, I-”

“Do you know what the people were saying?” The old soldier wasn’t done talking yet, cutting McCree off before he could interrupt further. “They were calling for my head. People were talking about reviving the old tradition of  _ lynching _ . And all I wanted to do was make the world a better place, a  _ safer place _ . Do you really blame me so much for going to ground, staying away from everyone who ever knew me? You were happier when you thought I was dead.” 

Jesse looked away at that, unable to argue that point. He  _ had _ been happier knowing that those who remembered him were dead, that they hadn’t come to find him and start a new crusade because they  _ couldn’t _ . “.....guess I can’t really blame you for that.”

“You seem to forget: you  _ left _ .” Now it was Jack’s turn to let a trace of anger past his calm. “You had a way out before things got really bad, and you took it instead of staying and helping fix things-”

“What was there to fix?!” Clearly pressing and letting out his own irritation had not been the way to go about this conversation. “You and Reyes couldn’t be in the same  _ building _ without shouting death at each other!” Jesse fumed, giving up on his smokes and glaring at the old soldier. “Like either of you woulda listened to some dumb upstart kid who just  _ happened _ to be a crack shot and a clearer head than the both of you put together!”

It gave him some satisfaction to see the soldier jerk back at the force of his words. “Yeah,  _ Jack _ . You always were a bastard with a stick up your ass. Rules this, regulations that, blah blah blah. And then you get promoted to  _ Commander _ , well la-de-fuckin’- _ dah _ . Made sure to lord it over all of us like we were scum-”

“ _ I didn’t want the title! _ ” Jack snapped before gritting his teeth and forcing himself to calm down.  _ Damn kid always was too hot-headed for his own good _ . “I’d have given it up if there had been someone else - _ anyone _ else- there to take over, especially once I saw what it did to everyone else! Yeah, I cracked down, tried to get everyone through, and it didn’t work. I’m a soldier, McCree, as human as the rest of you. Not a god.”

 

The silence stretched between them for several long minutes, McCree staring determinedly out at the ocean and breathing heavily as he fought to calm himself, Morrison watching him from behind his visor and hoping for the best. Finally the cowboy spoke up before the silence could become strained.

“....so. New start?”

“....that’s the idea. Leave the old name behind me, move on and make the world a better place from the shadows. If you ask Lena, the world always needs more heroes. If you ask me, it needs fewer heroes in the light and more people fighting the good fight without credit.”

This earned a strained laugh from McCree. “Fightin’ for redemption, huh? Guess I can get behind that.” He lit up again, finally taking a slow, long drag on the new cigarillo. “....’spose we gotta start over if this is to work. Ain’t gonna be easy, but we’re both grown men, right?”

“.....right.” The soldier relaxed a bit, glad McCree had come to that conclusion on his own. “You were doing alright on your own.” Jesse looked over, clearly faintly startled in spite of the poker face he’d plastered back on. “I caught reports here and there. Kept tabs on as many of the old gang as I could without blowing my cover.”

“....well I’ll be damned.”

 

The quiet settled between them again for a bit, both men relaxing without pressing further. Too many emotions had been stirred up, too many old wounds poked at, for them to make much more progress. A great step towards reconciliation had already been taken. Only time would tell what would happen next.

“....I see Reyes never kicked the smoke out of you.” Soldier: 76 commented dryly as he watched McCree stub out another cigarillo, easily the fourth of the day.

McCree simply threw his head back and laughed.

* * *

There were more amends to be made. Jesse knew he wasn't always the easiest man to get along with, even on his best days, but somehow there were a few of the others that had taken enough of a liking to him to call him ‘friend’. He wasn't worried about Genji: the ninja had been through enough in his own life that he'd understand, once they found time to have a quick chat. The others hadn't really made much effort to get to him -that he'd noticed, at least- so he wasn't worried about apologizing to them, and the new people hadn't had a chance to get to know him yet. Perhaps now they'd have time. He’d rejoin the group at meals and make a better effort to be social again.

_ Hana _ , on the other hand, he owed a serious apology to. He  _ knew  _ she'd tried to reach him, to cheer him up, and he'd shut her out with no explanation. Even worse, he wasn't sure  _ how  _ to go about earning her forgiveness.  _ She _ had done most of the work establishing and building their friendship until this point, and he silently resolved to work on this before heading out, working on a loose plan.

 

The next day, he tracked her down in the rec room, using his familiarity with her typical schedule to know where she would be this time of day. As expected, she had the TV on already and was deep into some game he didn't recognize, a plate with a few crumbs and a bit of peanut butter on it the only evidence of her ‘healthy’ snack from Angela. He lingered silently in the doorway for a minute, finally deciding she was neither streaming nor playing online with someone, as she hadn't said a single word, and he moved inside to claim ‘his’ spot on the couch.

She ignored him completely.

True, he'd donned more casual clothing for this, and sneakers made for far less of an audible presence than his usual boots with spurs, but he hadn't made any effort to be stealthy. As the minutes dragged on in silence, broken only by a quiet cough that was his single nervous attempt to get her attention, Jesse realized that she was  _ intentionally _ giving him the cold shoulder. Considering he’d basically given the world the cold shoulder for a week, it was hard to blame her.

_ I deserve this. _

McCree sighed and slid a little closer, opting to try for plan b.

 

Hana  _ had _ been aware of his presence ever since his lingering in the doorway to judge what she was doing. Inwardly she was still fuming, angry at him for shutting her out. She'd been  _ trying _ to help with whatever was bothering him, but it seemed the old cowboy was too stubbornly set in his ways to really be her friend.

She heard him sit down on the couch and stiffened slightly, eyes narrowing a bit as she focused harder on the game in order to shut him out. His hand drifted into her peripheral vision slowly, and she ignored it just as determinedly as she had ignored everything else he'd tried. It pulled back, then returned once, twice...five more times before he gave up and left the room. After being alone for a minute, curiosity finally got the best of her and Hana paused her game to look and see what he'd been doing.

A neat little line of six lime-green gummy frogs stared up at her from the snack plate she'd set aside on the floor.

It took every ounce of maturity she had not to squeal aloud at how  _ cute _ they were. Her anger was dimming as she picked one up, looking it over and wondering where he'd gotten them. His footsteps returned, and Hana lurched to her feet, controller clattering to the floor in her haste to get to him and give him a hug. The startled and relieved smile she caught a glimpse of was more than worth abandoning her game for a minute.

 

McCree let the gesture continue for a long moment, returning it awkwardly with one arm before gently trying to peel her off. Wide brown eyes lifted to meet his own, a pout forming on her lips in clear disappointment.

The look faded as he maneuvered his other hand between them, holding a steaming mug in his metal fingers, handle towards her. She took in the slightly nervous and sheepish smile on his face before investigating the latest offering. A quick sniff identified the drink as hot chocolate before she managed to drag his hand low enough to look into it, and what she saw there had her fighting not to squeal  _ again. _

There were marshmallows in it. _Bunny-shaped_ _marshmallows._

 

The liquid nearly ended up on both of them as she lurched forward to hug him again, accepting his peace offerings and giggling at his startled noises. Not that she was  _ done _ punishing him yet, of course. He'd have to suffer through her crushing him repeatedly in Starcraft for a while.

And maybe buy her more cute treats.


End file.
